


vulneret, vulnerare, vulnerabas

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Breathplay, Dubious Consent, Gentle Handies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6118946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the safety of his home and those he loves, Stiles makes a deal with the nogitsune. </p><p>That was six months ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	vulneret, vulnerare, vulnerabas

**Author's Note:**

> Going out of order for Voiles Week 2.0 because I need more time for my official Day 3 and Day 4. So this is Day 5: Stockholm Syndrome.

_to pierce, to wound, to weaken_

* * *

 

“How are we feeling today?”

On the bed, Stiles grunts.  It earns a dark chuckle as the nogitsune strides across the room, drawing the curtains open to let the light of day into their dark haven.

Grumbling, Stiles turns over in bed, hindered only by the leather cuff round his right ankle.  Sunlight plays over his back in wonderful, golden hues.  From across the room, the nogitsune admires the vast expanse of skin up to offer for him.  He hums, padding over, and climbs between the sheets with Stiles.

“It’s well past afternoon, darling.”

Stiles rolls his eyes.  “I’m not your darling.”

The nogitsune _tsks_ , fingers drumming a sweet staccato up along Stiles’ side.  It earns him a shiver.

“That’s not what you said last night,” he hums.

“ _Last night_ ,” Stiles twists around to face him, face pinched in a taut scowl.  “I wasn’t _locked_ to the bed and you weren’t _wearing my face_.”

“Still upset about that--?”

“We _agreed_ —“

“ _You ran_ ,” he hisses, catching Stiles by the jaw with a single hand and _squeezing_.  “We _agreed_ that you wouldn’t run.”

Teeth grit, Stiles goes frightfully still.  Almost docile.  “I wasn’t running,” he breathes.

“Don’t.  Lie.  To _me_.” The nogitsune sneers.

Seeing the wrath simmering just beneath the surface of his own familiar features, Stiles falters.  His jaw aches.  His fingers curl and uncurl in the sheets.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“I know.” The nogitsune’s gaze roams Stiles’ face.  “And I also know you’ll do it again.”

When they kiss, it is slow.  Stiles goes sweet and soft beneath his lover, his captor.  He drapes his arms lazily over the nogitsune’s shoulders and coaxes a loan moan from the fox spirit as he drags blunt nails up and over the nogitsune’s back, leaving angry red lines that won’t fade for hours.  Above him, his lover shifts, and Stiles hums contentedly as they settle together in a mess of limbs.

The sensation of the nogitsune’s clothed body pressed to Stiles’ bare one elicits a thrill.  Stiles arches as their tongues meet, wondering just how far gone he’s become.  Wondering when this stopped being disgusting.  Wondering when it became _arousing_ to be so completely helpless.

“You know I love a good chase,” his lover presses kisses down Stiles’ jaw.  “You know I love to _fuck you_ after.”

Stiles moans.

“That’s why you do it, isn’t it?” he asks, long fingers wrapping deathly gentle round Stiles’ throat.  “You like it when I have to catch you?  When I have to punish you for leaving?  You like it when I go half mad looking for you?”

Dazed, Stiles nods.  He doesn’t know if it’s true, but it sounds right.  He’s _achingly_ hard.

“That’s why we’re so perfect, darling.” The nogitsune smiles, teeth bright, eyes dark.  “You like to push.  You like to _play_.  Just as much as I do.  You get off on it.”

With his other hand, he reaches between them.  He takes Stiles’ cock in hand, and as he strokes, the pressure around Stiles’ neck goes up.  Stiles gasps in a tight breath, back bowing, and he comes so easy: it’s like a whisper.  A month ago, it might have been embarrassing how quickly the nogitsune could push him over the edge.  He spills out, over his stomach and over the nogitsune’s fingers, pupils blown and mouth hanging open as he sucks in desperate breath. 

The nogitsune strokes him until he’s soft.  When Stiles whines, oversensitive and twitching, he relents.

Kissing the corner of Stiles’ mouth, he grins and eases his grip.  “I don’t think you’d be half as much fun if you ever stopped playing.”

Stiles shudders.

“Will you be a good boy, Stiles?”

Lashes fluttering, Stiles looks up at his own face and sees the challenge.  Something burns in him—perhaps shame, perhaps desire—and his smile is mean when he offers it.

“Never.”

There is pleasure in his lover’s eyes.  He hums and leans down for another kiss.

“We’ll see.”

But they are trapped.  Neither will relent. 

When the nogitsune fucks him later-- bends him in half and takes him rough, penetrates him to break him, takes him to prove a point-- Stiles bites and claws and bucks until they are both ruined and spent upon one another.  

They will tear at one another until there is nothing left.


End file.
